


I can't remember a thing about our lives before this morning

by oftirnanog



Series: You've got the love I need to see me through [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Domestic, F/F, Future Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-15
Updated: 2013-03-15
Packaged: 2017-12-05 10:16:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/721920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oftirnanog/pseuds/oftirnanog
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lydia would have no problem spending the rest of her life like this even if that’s not something she lets herself think about.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I can't remember a thing about our lives before this morning

**Author's Note:**

> This can be read as a stand alone. You won't miss anything if you don't read [Our way to fall](https://archiveofourown.org/works/707388) , though if you want to start at the beginning of this series, that is where you want to be. 
> 
> It's really less a "series" and more a bunch of episodes in the domestic life of Allison and Lydia. Because there aren't enough domestic lady fics for my liking.
> 
> (Title from 'Depth of Field' by Anne Michaels)

If she’s being honest, Lydia is surprised how naturally her relationship with Allison went from friendship to more-than-friendship. She hadn’t thought it would be difficult exactly, maybe a little strange at first, maybe even awkward, but the whole thing is so normal that it feels like they’ve been doing it for years. It sometimes frustrates Lydia that it took them so long. Mostly she just enjoys making up for lost time.

Things aren’t actually that different between them. They’ve been friends for almost ten years and they lived together for two of them, so they’re both pretty familiar with each other’s patterns and idiosyncrasies. The only major difference is that now they have sex. A lot of sex. Really good sex. Lydia will never complain about the sex.

Oddly, though, it’s not the sex that she enjoys most about this new development of their relationship. It’s all the little things. Like the quick peck that Allison gives her before she heads off to the law firm she works at. Or that she’s free to press a kiss into the nape of Allison’s neck when she has her hair up and the skin there is so inviting. Or the way they settle onto the couch for the evening, Allison’s legs draped over Lydia’s lap while Allison reads over case files and Lydia organizes her dissertation research. The tiny intimacies that weren’t there before but are so second-nature now Lydia’s not sure how they ever got by without them.

They wound up turning the second bedroom, which was supposed to be Allison’s, into an office of sorts. There’s only one desk in it because it became immediately clear that neither of them works very well at a desk. This should’ve been something they already knew, but it’s the first time either of them has ever shared a bedroom and something about having an office sounded very responsible and adult. Now the desk is mostly used to store an excessive number of extra pens, highlighters, printer ink, and the chalk Lydia uses when she’s working out equations on the wheeled chalkboard that more often than not ends up in the living room. 

It’s a sizeable place. The dining room is big enough to house a full-size dining table, two bookshelves, Lydia’s chalkboard when she needs it, as well as stacks of books on the floor when they ran out of space on the shelves, and there’s still ample room to move around. Their various papers, files, and reference books end up on just about every available surface, so it’s good they have the room.

Lydia’s father bought the brownstone when he found out she was accepted at Harvard, and she had a moment where she was going to refuse it, because Lydia’s spent the last six years trying to prove that she doesn’t need her parents, but it seemed silly since he’d already bought it. She might as well live in it. He’d shrugged it off as an investment when she’d tried to thank him anyway. Buying it was pocket change for him so Lydia tries not to let it bother her. She plans on getting her own place, her proper own place, as soon as she’s done school.

They function much as they did while they were at Berkeley. They split the cooking and house cleaning almost evenly based on whoever has more time. It means that there are weeks that they live on take-out food and have to deal with compounding mess, but they’re used to that too. It’s a pretty good arrangement as these things go.

But hands down, Lydia’s favourite thing is when they both have time off together, time to take the whole day and just be; the days they’re allowed to wake up in languid increments and have slow, exploratory morning sex. On those days Allison will make bacon, and scrambled eggs, and pancakes once they’ve pulled themselves out of bed, sated and content. Lydia will make them coffee with their French press and pour some orange juice before taking a seat on the kitchen counter to admire the way Allison moves so comfortably in front of the stove. She’ll wait for the perfect moment to press her lips to the back of Allison’s neck, exposed once she’s pulled her sex-mussed hair into a loose bun. 

And then they’ll clear space on their dining room table amid the mountains of paperwork and legal or mathematics tomes and Allison will hand Lydia the science section of the paper while she works through the political stuff. And they’ll read each other snippets as they devour the best breakfast Lydia’s ever tasted, because Allison absolutely owns breakfast and no one will ever make it as well as she can. Lydia is ruined for restaurant brunch. 

And sometimes they go out after: to a play or a museum or to the shops on Newbury Street. Usually they spend the day in their pajamas, marathon whatever show they happen to be into at the time, take a walk if they’re feeling adventurous, and then have sex again, probably right on the couch when they get distracted from their show.

And it’s good. It’s great, actually. Lydia would have no problem spending the rest of her life like this even if that’s not something she lets herself think about. 

*

When Lydia wakes up at seven to get ready for class, Allison is just heading out the door. She gets a little more than the standard peck on the lips and finds herself grinning and a little turned on when she steps into the shower. The smile promptly drops off her face as she’s hit with a cascade of ice-cold water. She jumps out of the stream so quickly she hits her elbow on the shelf that holds the shampoo, which proceeds to tumble off the shelf and land squarely on her big toe. She swears in a few different languages and rubs at her elbow as she fishes the shampoo off the floor. 

She then proceeds to have the fastest shower in the history of showers. So much for shaving her legs today.

Lydia fumes at Allison for using up the hot water, but unfortunately, having left already, she doesn’t get to hear any of the tirade. It’s the tenth time it’s happened in the last two weeks and Lydia’s about at her breaking point. She’ll never understand how a person can use so much hot water that there is absolutely none left for the next person. They never had this problem in California. Lydia blames Boston’s cold weather. Well, she blames Allison first, but Boston by proxy. She settles for sending Allison a very curt, irritated text message.

Allison doesn’t respond, but that’s probably because she’s on the subway by now. 

Lydia mostly forgets about the whole thing once she’s sitting in her TA office after class trying to get through the pile of papers she’s supposed to have marked by the next morning. Two hours past her designated office hour and several pages into her most recent chapter draft she glances at the clock and decides it’s time to go home.

Allison’s not there when she gets in, but her briefcase is, so she must have gone for a run. Lydia feels a renewed spike of annoyance, so it’s probably a good thing Allison’s not there to get in the way of any potential line of fire. Rather than fixate on something she knows she should let go of (it’s just a hot shower for heaven’s sake), she settles in at the dining room table to pick up where she left off editing her dissertation chapter.

Lydia just barely registers the sound of the door when Allison gets in. It’s followed a few moments later by the whistling of the kettle, but Lydia’s too distracted by this horribly constructed paragraph that she wrote to pay it much mind. The next thing she knows Allison’s placing a mug of green tea in front of her accompanied by a take-out box of pad thai with chopsticks neatly propped inside. Allison rubs her hand down Lydia’s neck and across her shoulder, squeezing gently, and Lydia lets herself lean into it.

“I figured you’d probably forgotten to eat today,” Allison murmurs, pressing a kiss into the top of Lydia’s head.

Lydia hums in response, suddenly just happy to have Allison there, to have the reassuring pressure of contact between them, just happy knowing that if she wanted she could abandon this chapter for the evening and pull Allison into the bedroom, or slide onto the couch while Allison rubs her legs. And it feels so much like home that she’s slightly terrified, but the shower thing this morning seems so petty and trivial that she almost laughs out loud. 

Instead she smiles, tilts her back to kiss Allison properly, and says, “You know me too well.”

Allison responds by smiling and kissing her again, and then leaving her to get back to her work.

Lydia grins around a mouthful of pad thai and cups one hand around the warmth of her mug. On taking a second glance at this paragraph she thinks she knows how to fix it.

*

Of course, these things being what they are, Lydia finds herself screaming at Allison three days later after scrambling out of the shower with shampoo still in her hair. 

The thing is, it’s been a long week. Lydia’s feeling overwhelmed by this chapter draft that continues to get criticism that only borders on constructive and that she can’t seem to fix no matter what she does to it, and she’s tired, and half her class isn’t showing up to tutorial sessions making her question her ability as a teacher, and all she wants is a hot shower.

Allison’s just about to walk out the door when it happens. Lydia knows she has to be in court today, but she has a meeting with the professor she TA’s for this morning and another with her dissertation advisor right after, so she’s not feeling particularly sympathetic at the moment. She’s willing to admit that more than a little of that frustration and stress goes into the way she lays into Allison.

“You think I’m lying to you?” Allison asks, voice heavy with incredulity. 

They’ve been at it for about ten minutes. Allison’s worried about being late, which Lydia knows by the way she keeps glancing at the clock on the front hall table. Lydia’s still in her towel, standing in a small puddle that is going to damage the hardwood floor, and the shampoo is drying in her hair.

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” Lydia shoots back.

She regrets it as soon as the words tumble from her mouth, freezes at the way Allison’s face goes from disbelief to injury to cold indifference in quick succession. The mask that slides down at the end is almost a physical thing and Lydia wishes she knew how to throw it off. 

But it’s too late. The damage is done. Allison laughs, all ironic amusement and no humour. It’s a dangerous laugh. The one that Allison only uses when she’s really pissed off, when she’s about to eviscerate you in a debate because you just pointed out the hole in your own argument, when she’s about to finally plant an arrow in someone’s chest.

It’s a terrible laugh and Lydia deserves it. Because that was a low blow and she knows it, can feel it in the pit of her stomach. 

“You know what? I’m done here,” Allison says, that horrible smile still in place as she shakes her head and grabs her keys on the way out the door.

Lydia jumps at the loud slam even though she knew it was coming.

*

It’s a terrible day. Least of all because she has to tell her students about the grade deduction now in place for missed classes. She barely reacts when her dissertation advisor tells her tells her she needs to re-write half her chapter. At lunch she takes two bites of the salad she made for herself and tosses the rest in the trash.

Lydia hates that she brought up old arguments, old wounds, things she’d forgiven Allison for so long ago. It was petty. It was dirty. It was something her parents used to do. She feels it like a knot in her stomach the whole day. She’d call Allison and apologize, but she’s in court all day, on top of the fact that she’d rather apologize face to face. Allison deserves that much, at least, after Lydia blew the argument so far out of proportion. 

On the way home she stops at a nearby bakery for red velvet cupcakes—a love of Allison’s that Lydia will never understand. Nothing says “I’m sorry” like cupcakes she’ll never eat herself. 

Allison’s shoes are by the front door when Lydia gets in, which she takes as a good sign since it means Allison hasn’t decided to stay at the office for all hours to avoid her. Lydia toes her boots off and makes her way into the living room. Allison has changed into her worn flannel pajama bottoms and the UC Davis t-shirt she’s had since first year. Her hair is tied up loosely in a pile at the back of her head and her legs are tucked up under her on the couch as she flips through some papers. She’s frowning around her reading glasses and chewing on the end of her pen. Lydia can’t help the smile that takes over her face.

She moves further into the room and Allison looks up. Her expression remains neutral and Lydia’s smile falters.

“What’s that?” Allison asks, nodding at the box in Lydia’s hand.

Lydia takes a seat beside Allison and flips the box open, holding it towards her.

“A peace offering?” Lydia says.

“Red velvet?” she asks, and something in her face softens.

“Well, I know how you love them.”

“You hate red velvet.”

“But they’re for you, so it doesn’t really matter what I think of them.”

Allison glances from the cupcakes back up to Lydia’s face, which is wearing it’s best groveling expression. It’s an expression Lydia has perfected, but she rarely uses it this sincerely. Allison rolls her eyes at it, but there’s a smile playing at the corners of her mouth, so Lydia knows she’s been successful.

“I’m sorry,” Lydia says.

“I know,” Allison replies, giving her a soft look before snatching one of the cupcakes.

She takes a monumental bite and gets icing on her nose in the process. She grins and wipes at ineffectually until Lydia reaches over and does it for her.

“I’d pretty much forgiven you by lunch today, anyway,” Allison says, her voice thick with icing and cake.

“So the cupcakes weren’t necessary?” Lydia teases.

“Not necessary, but definitely helpful.” She grins and leans forward to kiss her. 

Lydia doesn’t even mind that she tastes like red velvet.

*

A few days later Lydia gets home and hears Allison in the shower. It’s been a draining couple of weeks and the only time they’ve really spent together involved crashing into bed to sleep, so after Lydia kicks off her shoes, she starts stripping off her clothes on the way to the bathroom.

She pulls the curtain back slightly and admires the view for a moment, the way the water cascades over Allison’s skin. 

“Mind if I join?” Lydia asks, already stepping into the shower.

Allison jumps slightly and spins around, bringing her hand to her chest. “You scared me,” she breathes, but she’s smiling.

“Sorry,” Lydia says, not really meaning it. She steps closer to Allison and runs her hands down her back and over her hips. Allison’s eyes flick down to Lydia’s lips and she reaches to tangle her fingers in Lydia’s still-dry hair and pull her into a kiss.

It starts slow, gentle nips and soft, probing tongues, and then Lydia’s grabbing at Allison’s ass, wedging one of her legs between Allison’s. Allison turns them around so Lydia is under the spray of the shower, runs her hands over Lydia’s hair to get it thoroughly wet. Lydia arches against Allison, grinding herself on Allison’s thigh, and tries to pull herself closer. She’s just working on insinuating a hand between them when the water goes suddenly frigid.

“Holy shit that’s freezing!” Lydia shouts.

They both scramble back from the spray and then Allison starts laughing hysterically. The water is still hitting Lydia in a persistent mist and her skin is covered in goosebumps and she can’t help looking at Allison, who’s now laughing so hard she’s tearing up and starting to double over, like she’s lost her mind.

“What?” Lydia insists.

“The hot water tank,” Allison gasps, trying to straighten herself. “It must be tiny!”

Realization dawns on Lydia and she starts laughing too, so they’re falling into each other, water-slicked skin sliding together, and it takes them a couple minutes to climb out of the shower and wrap themselves in their towels.

“This whole time, it was just the hot water tank,” Lydia says, still giggling as she rubs at her hair with a corner of her towel.

Allison nods. She bites on her bottom lip in an attempt to stop her snort of laughter, but fails. 

“And I accused you of lying about it,” Lydia says, a bit miserably. She’s starting to feel bad about it all over again.

“Oh my god, shut up,” Allison says, interrupting that train of thought with a kiss. “We are so far past that.”

“How much will it cost to fix it?” Lydia asks.

“Too much,” Allison says. “We’ll just have to work out a system.” She snorts with laughter again. “You’re make-up is everywhere,” she says, and gently rubs her thumbs under Lydia’s eyes to clean it up.

“Gone?” 

“I think I just made it worse,” Allison says, almost against Lydia’s lips, as she appears to have given up and decided to pick up where they left off.

“Hmm,” Lydia manages, sliding into blissful distraction as Allison lets her towel drop to the floor.

“How is it this is the first time we tried shower sex?” Allison mutters into Lydia’s collarbone.

“I have no idea, but bathroom floor sex doesn’t sound overly appealing so lets move this somewhere else.”

Allison gives Lydia a predatory smile and grabs her hands to start pulling her into the bedroom. She lets her own towel drop to the floor and hurries to keep up.

Somehow Lydia never remembers exactly how talented Allison is with her tongue until she's taking her apart like this, inch by burning inch, until she's writhing on the bed, every nerve alight and tingling. It's a good thing she got Allison off first because she loses her ability to form coherent thoughts let alone move herself to any purposeful action once Allison’s done with her.

Lydia falls asleep with Allison pressed along her back, her arm draped loosely over her waist, and her breath ghosting warm and reassuring on the back of her neck.

*

Lydia wakes slowly the next morning and reaches across the bed expecting to find Allison. Instead she finds Allison’s pillow. She pushes herself up on one elbow, trying to will herself into consciousness, and starts to detect the scent of bacon. She smiles to herself and pushes herself out of bed, slipping on a robe before heading downstairs.

As soon as she reaches the ground floor she can hear the sizzling of the frying pan and can smell the coffee that Allison’s already made. Allison’s standing at the stove, moving between the pan of bacon and the pancakes. She’s wearing an over-sized t-shirt that just falls short of fully covering her underpants-clad bottom and she’s let her hair fall around her shoulders in a mess of kinked curls and waves and strange flat spots. 

She looks stunning.

Lydia walks up behind her and wraps her arms around Allison’s waist in a loose hug, resting her chin on Allison’s shoulder. “Good morning,” she murmurs in her ear.

“Good morning, sleepy head,” she responds, and Lydia hears more than sees Allison’s smile. She presses a kiss to Allison’s shoulder where her chin was resting and then steps back, letting one hand glide along the small of her back as she does. She reaches beside Allison and grabs two small glasses from the cupboard for orange juice and a mug for her coffee.

Once she’s fixed her coffee she pulls herself up onto the counter beside the stove and leans her head back against the cabinets, watching while Allison expertly flips a pancake. 

“Did I tell you what happened during the closing statement yesterday?” Allison’s asks, glancing up from the stove to look at Lydia.

Lydia shakes her head and takes a sip of her coffee. “What?”

And Allison goes into a story about her court drama, and Lydia laughs at all the right places because Allison’s good at telling these things, and then they eat breakfast and fight over the crossword puzzle, even though they always end up doing it together anyway. And Lydia gets Allison to look over part of her dissertation after they work out a shower schedule that works for both of them, laughing about it the whole time. 

It turns out that ruling out shower sex is less disappointing than Lydia would have thought.


End file.
